Spring Cleaning
by Sixty-four K
Summary: In which Galion does some spring cleaning, and the inhabitants of Mirkwood are less than amused. A birthday present for the fabulous Pip the Dark Lord of All.


_I'm posting this a day early because I'm busy all day tomorrow, but... HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PIP! *gives you a giant birthday cake* *passes you a pile of presents* *smashes your face in*_

 _I hope this story makes you smile at least a little bit. Have a wonderful birthday- I command you! ;-) I hope that you don't mind that this is about Galion... XD_

 _Everyone who is not named Pip the Dark Lord of All, review said person's stories. Give her loads of fabulous, positive reviews; you won't regret it. If you want a smile, or to laugh hysterically, read her stories. I got addicted to them, and have never looked back. So make her day, and give her reviews!_

 _Anyway, without further ado, let's let Galion get some spring cleaning done. Enjoy!_

* * *

Feren wasn't used to finding King Thranduil behind his throne. His Highness, the Fabulous Elvenking of Mirkwood, was usually sitting _on_ the throne, or perhaps strolling about the palace, looking fabulous and giving authoritative orders to his various nameless subjects. His Royal Majesty would never stoop so low as to hide behind his throne, the symbol of his royal authority. And yet, here he was, looking as terrified as you could imagine.

Of course, one may ask why Feren was looking behind Thranduil's throne. The truth was, he always hid his snacks behind there, since no one ever looked behind it. The fact that Thranduil was unknowingly sitting on a bag of dill pickle chips that Feren had secreted behind the throne had put the messenger in a fragile state of emotional well-being. Nevertheless, Feren put on a brave face, meeting the eyes of the frightened king. "What seems to be the trouble, old bean?"

Thranduil held up a shaking finger to his lips. "Shush!" he said. "I'm hiding from Galion."

Feren was confused. "Why'd you want to hid from Galion, old sprout?"

"Because!" whispered Thranduil. "It's the first day of spring. That means that it's Spring Cleaning Day. That means that Galion is on a Cleaning Rampage."

Feren stared at Thranduil in horror. "I hope you don't mind if I hide back here too, old sport," he muttered, crawling behind the throne.

"Not at all," said Thranduil, regality abandoned in favour of kingly compassion. "Anything for a loyal subject. I don't want anyone to be traumatized by Galion."

Feren and Thranduil settled down into silence, each comforted by the fact that they themselves were not the only people scared by Galion, and that they could be scared together.

Suddenly, the two of them heard pounding footsteps coming towards the throne. Feren and Thranduil gasped in terror, pressing their backs to the wall.

A head peeked around the edge of the throne. Thranduil and Feren screamed in terror. Thankfully, it was only Tauriel. The elven maiden pulled one earbud out of her ear, adjusting the volume of her phone by a miniscule amount. "Daaaddd, can you tell Galion to stay out of my stuff? I don't mind talking to him and comforting his angst, but when he starts rummaging through my drawers, that's the limit."

"I'm not your dad," grumbled Thranduil. "Anyway, I can't tell Galion to do _anything_. On Spring Cleaning Day, my normally obedient, somewhat snarky butler goes berserk. He won't listen to reason. He throws out everything that I love and care for, and mentally abuses my loyal subjects and I."

"That was some fabulous exposition, old sport," said Feren comfortingly.

"Well, I don't care," said Tauriel, answering a text. "No, Legolas, I'm not going to Dol Guldur right now. I'm going to hang with Dad instead."

Thranduil rolled his eyes. "I suppose that you can hide back here if you like," he offered generously, "but I can't boss Galion today. He'll murder me if I do."

Tauriel squeed, crawling behind the throne. Feren found himself uncomfortably squished between Thranduil and the new arrival to the hiding place. He sighed, desperately wishing that Galion would be over his rage soon.

Then, he thought. He hadn't actually seen Galion on this cleaning rampage. In fact, all that he had heard about this rampage was word of mouth from Thranduil and Tauriel. What if they were in on a plot to make a fool of them? What if–

A blood-chilling scream echoed through the halls. Feren joined in with it.

"What's that?" asked Tauriel, looking up from her phone for the first time and staring curiously at Thranduil.

Thranduil shuddered. "That's the sound that Galion makes when he actually realizes how much of a mess he actually has to deal with. But I don't feel sorry for him," he added decisively. "If he had kept up a good job cleaning all year, he wouldn't have such a big mess to worry about."

Feren winced at the sudden sound of shattering glass. Thranduil read his mind. "That's him throwing out everything that he thinks is unnecessary. I don't know… maybe I should try to go and interfere. Last year, he tried to throw out the robe that I wore on my coronation day because I 'never wear it anymore.' Of course I don't! I don't want anything to happen to it, but I still want to keep it."

"Same!" said Tauriel. "Like, he was rummaging through my drawers, and pulling out all my old magazines and stuff. He said that I shouldn't be polluting my mind with trash like that, whatever that means."

Once again, footsteps(light rather than heavy this time) came towards the throne room. Thranduil and Feren, remembering their unnecessary fear when Tauriel had arrived at the throne, remained relaxed, sure that there was nothing to worry about.

"Sire?" said an all-too familiar voice, obvious anger hidden behind a polite facade. "Are you about? I'd like an explanation about the state of your closet, if you don't mind."

Thranduil swallowed a scream. "Don't move a muscle," he whispered to his companions.

"But you just moved some muscles," protested Tauriel. "You had to so you could talk to–"

Feren pulled Tauriel's hair in a vain hope that she would shut up. Unfortunately, it made her yelp.

"Tauriel?" They could hear Galion approaching. "Tauriel, where are you? I need to talk to you about your clothes. You've amassed quite the collection; far more than you need, evidently, given that the majority of them are strewn about upon your floor. So… I've taken the liberty of donating most of them to the Lothlorien Charity Association." Sarcasm, which had been subtly creeping into his voice since the beginning of his speech, reached an all-time high. "I do hope that you don't mind."

Thranduil thought that his life was over. Galion would find him, and he would die, all thanks to that good-for-nothing brat T**riel. Then, he was saved by a most unlikely person.

"Galion?" asked a sullen voice.

"Oh! Lethuin… how can I help you?"

"I'm just wondering," said Lethuin sullenly, "why you messed up my bow and arrow collection?"

Feren gasped. "Oh, that's a mistake. You should never ask Galion why he messed something up."  
"Hey- augh! Galion, you're overreacting!"

Tauriel dared a glance out from behind the throne. She winced at the sight that she beheld. The fairly slight Galion, who normally found himself at the receiving end of this sort of situation, had caught Lethuin by the collar and was close-talking him.

"I think that you're the one overreacting," sniffed Galion. "I take time out of my busy day to organize your messy stash of bows and arrows, and you call it 'messing it up!' You've offended me very badly. And I don't like that sullen tone of voice. Smarten up, young man!"

"Okay," said Lethuin sullenly. "You can put me down now."

Galion dropped Lethuin. "You can scrub the kitchen. Go on. Don't dilly-dally."

Lethuin stomped sullenly away, and Tauriel, with a sigh of relief, collapsed against the wall. Galion was surely sufficiently distracted to leave them alone–

Galion looked behind the throne. The three companions screamed in terror. Galion grinned evilly.

* * *

"Galion, let me out of here!" Thranduil screeched. Why on earth did his door lock from the _outside_?

"Not until your room is clean," came the merry answer. "And you're not having supper until it's done. Or dessert. Or anything. You will have _nothing_ until the room is clean. The conditions are the same for Tauriel, Lethuin, Feren, Legolas, who, by the way, I found slacking off near Dol Goldur, and any of those other random elves who live here. You are all locked in your rooms until you've finished cleaning them. I've already done part of the job for you. Now, you can finish it."

"When you come to your senses, Galion, I'll have you severely punished," said Thranduil through his teeth. But then the thought dawned on him. Part of the job was done already? In a panic, the Elvenking began to rummage through his closet. It couldn't be missing…. but it _was_.

"GALION." But it was too late.

* * *

"Galadriel, should we really be taking things from our Charity Society? It doesn't seem true to our morals."

"Of course we should, my dear Celeborn," said Galadriel smoothly. "After all, we're running this society without pay, so it's only right that we get something in return. And you needed a new robe, didn't you?"

"Well…" Celeborn examined his new robe. It was a nice robe. It was made of the finest silks, and had a lovely swirly pattern on it. It certainly suited him. Although, he did wonder where he had seen it before. It certainly looked familiar–

Celeborn remembered where he had seen it.

"Of course it's right, Galadriel," he said confidently. " _Thranduil_ couldn't ask for a better robe."

* * *

 _Review if you feel so inclined... but definitely review Pip's stories! Especially Galion's Holiday, for reasons which I shall leave unsaid... ^_^_ _I bid you all a very chewy farewell. *vanishes*_


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